68. Glasgow-Reykjavik (Icelandair): 40th birthdays are not something to be taken lightly, and I had to make sure I was headed somewhere pretty special. Since New York was the first place I had ever visited overseas, I decided now was as good a time as any to go back. When I had last visited (in 1979), two things had just been launched, Skylab and Happy Meals. And Jimmy Carter was president. I figured this would be a good time to check in again pondside and see if I had missed anything in the meantime.
Stateside flights were expensive though, largely due to Air Passenger Duty, the tax UK passengers have to pay based on how far away they’re flying. But Icelandair had a simple solution to this; fly to the US with them and have a free stopover in Reykjavik, which meant that you would ‘cheat’ the APD tariffs by only flying to Europe. And I had always wanted to visit Iceland anyway, so it was win-win. I would mean flying from Glasgow, but I could live with that, so I soon had a bargain £320 return to JFK booked.
It felt kinda weird being back at Glasgow airport after a few years, and even weirder not checking in at the Emirates desk. But a pint of Tennent’s and a Tunnock’s teacake had me right in the mood. The flight was fairly pleasant; I had my first taste of Icelandic beer (to help wash down a bacon baguette), and there was some pretty good Icelandic programming on the seat-back entertainment. Iceland itself was a bit of a shock at first sight; a black coastline with angry looking waves beating the shore, and small clouds of smoke drifting from the rocky ground. Sometimes you arrive somewhere and think, ‘ooh, palm trees’ or ‘yeurgh, sticky humidity’, and you know you’re in a different country. You arrive in Iceland and it’s like you’ve landed on a totally different planet. It was nice to see some Björk lyrics decorating the windows at Keflavik, but the international airport itself is actually a long way from Reykjavik. There were buses waiting to meet each flight, and I was already booked onto one for the long trip into town. Maybe it was the heating onboard, or maybe because the bus was full, but I was feeling slightly queasy by the time I arrived in the city, and desperate to get out into the fresh air. It didn’t take long after arriving at my hotel that I realised it was a bit more serious, spending most of my first night ‘driving the porcelain truck’. Not the best start to my American adventure.
69. Reykjavik-New York JFK (Icelandair): It hadn’t been the most pleasant start to my trip, but I was feeling a lot perkier by the time I arrived back at Keflavik for my onward flight to the US. I even broke my self-imposed dry spell, enjoying a few pints whilst watching the football in a quiet airport bar. It was six hours down to Noo Yoik, which would be a bit of a stretch after hopping around Europe for the last few years, but nothing like what I’d been doing not so long ago. There was a minor passenger mutiny once we were under way: the airline had leaflets in the seat-back compartments advertising their in-flight wi-fi, but it didn’t mention that there was a charge for it. Quite a few people were angry about that, but I wasn’t much fussed. The views over the frozen wastes of Greenland and North West Canada were great, and the girls sitting next to me were kind enough to share their bottle of vodka which they had hidden in their hand baggage.
70. New Orleans-Dallas (American Airlines): I really wish that I had spent more time in New Orleans, especially when I realised I would be in the middle of a massive Nor’easter when I flew back north. But, despite reports of almost 6,500 flights being cancelled in the North Eastern states, it appeared that my flights were unaffected; I could understand that for the first leg from New Orleans to Dallas Fort Worth, but I couldn’t believe my onward connection to Newark was still operating. There was a brief issue at the airport when the American Airlines ticket machine didn’t recognise my booking number. And when I bought that lovely red scarf in the gift shop for Kirsty (which I’ve never seen her wear), the lady behind the counter was suspicious of the chip on my credit card, maybe she thought there were explosives hidden in it. The flight was routine, apart from two things: Sean Peyton was spotted onboard, and in the excitement the drinks service inexplicably missed my row. Also, as American and US Airlines were in the process of merging, the cabin crew were wearing a mixture of uniforms, which isn’t something you see every day.
71. Dallas-Newark (American Airlines): I have no idea how this flight went ahead. The flight network over the North Eastern states was in absolute chaos, yet somehow, this one departed on time and went straight into the heart of the storm. There were a few slightly awkward scenes at the gate, where the last few remaining seats on my flight were being handed out to stranded flyers on a first-come, first-served basis.
Once in the air, the flight was fairly routine. I had to laugh at the mother across the aisle, who told her two daughters that they would have to behave as they were on a ‘long’ four-hour flight. I’m glad they weren’t sitting next to me from Dubai to Brisbane, which was almost four ‘long’ flights in a row. But when we started getting closer to our destination, (and the Nor’easter) we started hitting some major turbulence. Generally speaking, turbulence doesn’t bother me; I know that the wings are meant to bend like that, and that it’s basically akin to going over bumps in a road. But I also kind of enjoy it in a masochistic way, and my usual reaction of grinning and chuckling doesn’t always go down well with my fellow passengers. In this case, the middle-aged woman sitting next to me was taking it particularly badly, so, just like that Jetstar flight years ago, I started talking nonsense to her to distract her. By the time we landed she was really keen to try one of those Tunnock teacake things I’d told her about. Hopefully she managed to make the long drive back to her home in Long Island safely.
As for Newark, the terminal area was eerily quiet, with most of the shops and bars closed. But after coming through arrivals, it felt like walking into a refugee camp, with hundreds of stranded travellers strewn across the floor in various stages of misery and frustration. I tried to look as nonchalant as possible as I strolled through them with my bags, but it could easily have been me lying on the floor. I still don’t know how my flight heading straight into one of the worst, storm-affected areas survived, whilst thousands didn’t.
72. JFK-Reykjavik (Icelandair): The biblical storm that had engulfed the North Eastern states had eased up a little over the weekend. So even though I’d be starting the day almost 300 km and several states away from the airport, I was confident that there would be no issues in making my flight. The first sign of trouble came the night before in the Pour Judgement in Newport; I had tried to pay my bar tab (an excellent burger, washed down with four cans of Narragansett), with my credit card. The sale was declined several times, and even the cash machine in the corner of the bar wouldn’t allow me to withdraw any funds. This was damn peculiar, as I’d checked the card’s balance just a few hours previously using the app on my smartphone, and I knew there was the equivalent of eighty dollars still left on it. The barmaid suggested I could just pay another time, (although she knew perfectly well this was my last night in the states), but the girl I’d been drinking with offered to pay for me anyway. I was then a little distracted for the rest of the evening, and forgot about it.
I was trudging through the snow back to my hotel early the next morning when I remembered. Checking my card balance on my app, I now saw that I was somehow over my limit. This was impossible, as I always controlled my money tightly overseas. Looking more closely, I saw that three of my transactions were being processed twice, (The Avenue pub in New Orleans, American Airlines and the NHL store in NYC), which was pushing me over my limit, freezing my card. I called my card issuer back home, and they explained that this occasionally happened with overseas transactions; if the exchange rate changed during the authorisation, it could create two separate transactions. He cleared the offending transactions for me, and told me it should clear within four to six hours. Not ideal, but hopefully it would be sorted by the time I’d made my way back down from Rhode Island.
For my journey to the airport, I would first have to get the local bus to Providence, and luckily I still had a few dollars in change left for this. And I had already paid for my Amtrak rail ticket from Providence to New York. The tricky bit would be getting from the city to JFK; I still had my Metrocard, and I was sure there was still about six or seven dollars left on it. But was it enough for the seven dollar twenty fare for the Airtrain? I would have no way to find out until I reached New York.
Despite the lovely, clear winter morning, the bus ride down to Providence was a little stressful, as I had no way of checking my card balance until I found some wi-fi again. As soon as I arrived at the railway station I immediately checked my card’s balance, but still no change. And for the next few hours, as my train sped south through the snow, I continually checked it again and again, and still no change. By now another issue had occurred to me; regardless of whether I got to the airport or not, this was a pretty long day and I hadn’t eaten yet, nor did I have any way of buying any food. I reluctantly raided my luggage, and the various Hershey bars I’d bought as presents kept my stomach from complaining too much.
After finally arriving in New York, I found that a) my card was still frozen, and b) my Metrocard was twenty cents short of the Airtrain fare. How was I going to get to JFK to catch my flight? I supposed I could try to bum the money off a passer-by; everyone I had met in the States had been really friendly on this trip, so surely someone would give me a quarter? I approached the first person I saw passing, and was politely told to fuck off. Maybe scrounging the money wasn’t the answer.
And then a mad idea occurred to me; on my travels over the years, I usually kept one or two souvenir bank notes in my wallet. Maybe I could find a currency exchange and get a few bucks for them? I remembered seeing a currency exchange near my hotel from my stay earlier in the week, and headed down in that direction to see if I could find it again. Luckily it didn’t take long; cheerfully admitting to the cashier that this may look a little pathetic, I handed over my crumpled little collection of souvenir notes, and asked if I could get anything for them. Fortunately, my ten Hong Kong dollars, one hundred Philippine Pesos and five UAE Dirhams gave me the princely sum of around eight dollars. Relief beyond relief.
Having made my way back to the railway station and topped up my Metrocard with the few cents needed, I was on my way to JFK with plenty of time to spare. Maybe a little too much time actually, with about three hours to kill before my flight and not much money to entertain or feed myself. I had just enough for a Double Cheeseburger meal from McD’s at Departures; after that I would have to be hungry. But considering how lucky I was to have even made it to the airport at all, I could live with that.
73. Reykjavik-Glasgow (Icelandair): Naturally, the first thing I did on arrival at Reykjavik was to check my credit card’s balance: still in the red, despite having been promised almost a day earlier that the problem would clear in four to six hours. The stop was fairly brief, and the final leg of my journey reminded me of all those delightful Dubai-Glasgow flights with Emirates; crammed into a Scotland-bound flight with loads of other Scottish holidaymakers, though for a much shorter flight time thankfully. And when we arrived back at Glasgow, my card had of course now been cleared and was back in the black.
Gill 9A 